


Keys

by Zwarte Parel (Celandine)



Series: Will Turner Sequence [4]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-10
Updated: 2004-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 11:52:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/pseuds/Zwarte%20Parel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sixteen-year-old Elizabeth asks Will to make a new key for her linen chest. Overlaps "Finding William Turner," but stands alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keys

Elizabeth heard Martha drawing the curtains open to let the bright sun of a Caribbean morning flood in. She kept her eyes shut, but a moment later the bed-curtains were pulled back as well, and Martha's voice said, "Good morning, miss. The Governor said to tell you that he is obliged to visit the fort this morning, but he'll be back by eleven and you're to see him then."

Sighing, Elizabeth suffered herself to be coaxed out of bed and dressed. She considered it hard luck to have to get up now even though she would not see her father for three hours. Weatherby Swann was a firm believer in the adage about "early to rise," however. She put on a fresh shift and Martha laced up her stays, a garment she hardly needed, thought Elizabeth ruefully, looking down at her as-yet-flat chest. A gown in a becoming shade of blue-green followed. It was not vanity that prompted that choice; rather, Elizabeth planned to make a request of her father and knew him to be more susceptible when she looked the part of a well-bred girl, cultured and feminine.

Breakfast was bread and fruit and well-watered wine, the last brought at some expense from France. Elizabeth would as soon have drunk plain water, but her father thought it unhealthy. She ate lightly, as usual, before retreating to the cool of the library to read and wait for him to return. Her own books were up in her bedchamber, and she knew that he did not much approve of her choices in literature. So it was that he found her nodding over a forty-year-old volume of sermons left behind by a previous incumbent.

"Good morning, daughter." Swann took the book from her hand. "I see that the Reverend Royce's discussion of the sin of avarice is not to your taste."

"Since it is not one to which I am greatly inclined, no," she answered.

"A pert response, even if true," he said, and laid it aside. "So, Elizabeth, tell me what you have done the past week."

This was his usual prompt, and called for a twofold response: first, how the household ran, and second, her own activities. At sixteen Elizabeth had been nominally in full charge of the Governor's house for the past year, although in practice she was still learning from the steward and housekeeper as much as she directed them. The jangling bunch of keys she carried was the symbol of her authority, but no more than that. "I tallied the best set of dishes, and despite breakages, there is still service for thirty-two," she began, and continued through additional details of what had been counted, bought, mended, eaten, washed, and all the rest of the doings that sustained not only the two of them, but a household that also included several of the Governor's staff and more than twenty servants. Sometimes Elizabeth wondered if her father genuinely cared how it all ran, or if he only wanted to be certain that she spent her time appropriately.

Her private actions called for equal particulars. She had read, embroidered, spent time in the garden, and visited and been visited by several of the respectable ladies of the town – mostly wives of officers – and their daughters. Three evenings she had presided at formal dinners for visitors, as Governor Swann already knew.

"Good," he said as she finished. "I'm happy to hear of your afternoon with Mistress Howe and her daughter Anne. Most suitable."

"Yes, father," said Elizabeth, who secretly considered Anne Howe the most insipid girl she had ever met. "Father, please may I walk into town tomorrow afternoon? I should like to see if there are any new fabrics brought in, since you said last week that I should think of having another dress or two made for this winter." She held her breath. A trip into town was always a delicate question. Port Royal, especially the area near the docks, was not the sort of place that Weatherby Swann liked to have his daughter frequent. On the other hand, there was little choice in the matter if Elizabeth were to have any new clothes, or oversee necessary purchases and arrangements for the household.

Swann considered it, absently straightening his carefully-curled wig. A faint dusting of white powder fell from it onto his shoulders. "A new dress? Very well. You may go to the shops tomorrow, but _not_ ," he lifted a finger, "to the docks, unless you have Edward or Peter with you. And you really should have Martha accompany you in any case."

"All the maids will be busy for the next few days," said Elizabeth. "They are in the midst of the autumn cleaning, and the carpets and curtains are heavy to manage and need everyone's help. I will only go to the shops near the square, and if I find something suitable I will have the fabric sent here, I will not carry it myself."

"Must you go tomorrow? Would not next week do?"

"The _Celia_ docked yesterday. If I wait I might not have the best to look at," was the reply. "Please?"

If Swann had a fault as a father, it was his tendency to indulge his sometimes-wayward only child. In some matters, early rising being one of those, he was immovable, but a little pretty persuasion by Elizabeth could often sway his judgment. "You may go, daughter. Two dresses, though, no more."

"Thank you, father," said Elizabeth, rising to kiss his cheek affectionately, pushing away her slight sense of guilt. It was not dress material she sought, although she would duly look at it and doubtless choose at least one fabric to sustain her excuse. Her true reason was simply to walk about unhindered, see the wares, and the people as well; perhaps find a new pamphlet or book to buy, or fall into conversation with someone less suitable than Anne Howe or Frances Walker or the several other girls she regularly visited under paternal auspices.

The following day Elizabeth dressed in a plain grey gown trimmed with red, and tied on a black bonnet. All of the shopowners knew her as the Governor's daughter, and would send her purchases to the big house on credit, but she carried a few shillings with her anyway in case she saw something that she wished to keep discreet. Christmas was not that far off, and if she found a gift for her father its bill ought not to go to him; he gave her sufficient spending money for that.

Elizabeth remembered the markets and shops of London, though more hazily every year, and she knew that Port Royal was tiny and shabby by comparison. But she did not care. She went first to look at dress materials, and rather to her surprise found not just one, but two fabrics that she liked: a deep red thin wool and a twilled blue silk. Mr. Hayward, the cloth-dealer, was more than willing to set the bolts aside.

"I will send a message tomorrow to let you know what lengths I will require," she said, smiling.

"Certainly, Miss Swann," he acknowledged, and bowed her out. Hayward was well aware that at least fifteen yards of each would be needed, and likely more, as well as the thread, laces, and other ancillaries which brought him a good profit. It was worth it to take the fabric out of view for a day.

Her conscience salved, Elizabeth had only one more responsibility to see to before she felt free to wander for the remainder of the afternoon. She stopped at Monkton's, the grocer, to order spices, dried fruits, and rice for the kitchen, inhaling the fragrance of the cloves as Mr. Monkton held them up for her to see their quality. He weighed her purchases in a brass scales so polished and gleaming that it looked like gold, and promised that the parcel would reach the Governor's mansion by that evening.

The two private purposes she had held in her mind remained. First, to Caldicott's to see if he had anything new for her to read. Last time there had been a splendid pamphlet with wood-cut illustrations of the siege and capture of Nassau port, and another of the depredations of the pirate Roberts on the Spanish Main. Today the bookseller apologized and said that he had not received any new stock since her visit the month before, urging her to look over what he had nonetheless. Elizabeth shrugged, resigned. The selection would be larger in London, no doubt, but it would lack a certain immediacy. Why, it was not impossible, in fact it was likely, that there was a pirate ship in Port Royal right then. Pirates to the Spanish and French, at any rate. Vessels known to have preyed on English ships were better off staying away, these days, since Lieutenant – no, he was a captain now – Captain Norrington had great enthusiasm for capturing and hanging known pirates, as she had learned four years ago on the voyage from England.

Which thought reminded Elizabeth of the last place she wished to visit today. Brown's smithy. Every time she was in town unaccompanied, she made sure to pass it by, looking in the door if it was open, or the window, although she rarely went inside or spoke the one who was the object of her pilgrimage. John Brown would not thank her for interrupting Will at work. An apprentice's time was his master's, not his own, and Will Turner's apprenticeship articles bound him to the forge for years yet.

Today she was in luck. Master Brown was nowhere in sight, and Will labored alone, his back turned to the shop entrance, trusting that any customer would call for his attention. Elizabeth glanced around the little square. There were enough folk about that she would be noticed if she lingered in the doorway without entering, so she slipped inside and stood against the wall to one side. Even from here she could feel the heat radiating from the forge, causing beads of sweat to form along her hairline and down her neck. She wondered how Will could stand it. Shamelessly she watched him, seeing his muscles flex beneath the rolled-up linen of his shirt sleeves, under the heavy leather apron that protected his body from the worst of the heat. He made the hammer sing its blows upon the metal, returning the blade to the fire several times as he worked before finally quenching it in the barrels nearby.

Elizabeth found her own arms twitching in sympathy as she watched, echoing his movements. She knew she could never handle the great hammer, of course, but she thought it would be exhilarating to be able to work so with the iron, to create tools and weapons. All she made were useless samplers and such embroideries, good only for hanging on walls. Will could not leave Master Brown, and he had to do as he was told until his terms ended, but he could stretch and bend and swing his body, and when he finished his apprenticeship he might do whatever he wished with his skills. He could set up shop here, or in another town in the islands; return to England; or even travel half-way around the world to the East Indies if he chose.

Will began on another blade as Elizabeth continued to stand unobserved. She knew she ought to go; not only was the afternoon growing late but at any moment either John Brown might return or a proper customer walk in. In the event, though, it was Will himself who caught her when he put the bar back to heat and turned to get himself a drink of water.

"Miss Swann!" he said in surprise. "I must apologize, I did not know you were here. You should have spoken. I hope you did not wait long?" His dark eyes were contrite, intent on hers.

"No," she said in some confusion. She ought to have thought up some excuse for being here. "Not long." Her eyes fell on a display of half-a-dozen locks and keys and inspiration struck. "I need a lock for my chest that I keep linens in." She only just stopped herself from saying "shifts," instead of "linens," not wanting to embarrass him.

Will said, "Does it not have one already?"

"It does," Elizabeth had to admit, then invented, "but I have mislaid the key, so I cannot fasten it."

"Then you do not need a new lock, only a new key, Miss Swann. Have someone carry the box down here and we will be able to make one for you."

Elizabeth was dismayed. If she agreed to that it might draw attention she did not want. Perhaps her excuse was not such a clever one after all. "Could you not come up to examine the lock there? And you need not call me Miss Swann, Will, not when we are alone."

"I do," he said, without elaborating. "It would be easier to have the chest here. Often it takes a bit of trial and error to adjust a new key to fit properly." Elizabeth bit her lip, and he added, "But if you really wish, I suppose I could manage to come along some evening this week and see to it, take an impression of the lock and then bring a trial key back to you."

"Would you, Will?" said Elizabeth eagerly. "I would appreciate that. Ought I to speak to Master Brown about it, to ensure that you may come?"

"He isn't here at present," although Will's eyes flicked to the door that led, Elizabeth surmised, to the living quarters behind the forge, "but you might write a message, lest he think I'm making excuses to get out of work."

She wrote her request on a scrap of paper, specifying that since it was but a small task, she had no qualms about leaving it to an apprentice. In fact it was a more difficult undertaking than Will had indicated. Only later would she understand that he would never admit so to her, not if he had to sit up for the next three nights to learn how to do what he had promised.

Elizabeth nearly danced up the hill to her home. At supper that night – thankfully not a company dinner – her father remarked on her cheerful mood.

"I found some lovely fabrics," she told him. "I only need to consult with Martha and Betty about how much I will need for the new styles, and Mr. Hayward will send whatever I require. Oh, and I paused at the blacksmith's shop to ask to have someone sent to look at the lock on my linen-chest. The key is not in its usual place." Which was now true, as she had hidden it in the bottom part of a drawer where she kept various small treasures.

Weatherby Swann frowned. "You must learn not to be so careless, Elizabeth. You ought to have put that key with the rest you carry. Is the chest locked?"

"No, unlocked. I can get at the things," she said. "If I find the key on my table, or the floor, before the smith comes I will send to tell him not to bother." She fluttered her hand dismissively. "Now, let me tell you what my new dresses will look like."

Elizabeth was more prudent than to think that an apprentice smith could be permitted into her room. So when Will appeared five evenings later – a night on which the Governor had no guests – she hastily tossed the contents of the chest onto her bed and called for Peter to carry it downstairs to be looked at. She thought it not at all improper to hear for herself whether he could make a new key.

Will poked and probed and fiddled about with assorted implements, and told her he would be back in two days with a key to try.

She had been watching his hands as he worked, noticing a shiny patch on his left thumb, and he had to repeat himself before she heard him.

"Oh. Oh yes, thank you," said Elizabeth. "Will, did you burn your hand?"

He glanced at it and nodded. "Such things happen all the time in a smithy."

Elizabeth held out her own hand next to his. One slender and pale, the forefinger adorned with a garnet ring; the other square, brown, and calloused by hard work and old scars. "I suppose so. Does it still hurt?"

"No, Miss Swann, but I thank you for your concern. I'll be back with your key the day after tomorrow," he said.

Good as his word, Will returned promptly at the same hour as before. "Why don't you take the key up first and try it, Miss Swann, and if it doesn't fit then you can have the chest brought down again. I can wait in the hall meanwhile."

Somewhat to her disappointment, the new key worked perfectly. She clasped it in her hand as she thanked him and gave him the fee to take to Master Brown.

"You're very welcome, Miss Swann. My pleasure." Then, unexpectedly, he leaned closer and said softly, "I never made one before. I'm glad it worked the first time."

"Why, Will," said Elizabeth, "how kind of you to do so then." Feeling that one confession deserved another, though she was not willing to admit the full extent of her deception, she said, "I know where the original key is now, but I did not want your efforts to go to waste. I will put one aside in reserve, in case I misplace the other."

"A wise decision. The keys to all locks should be so easy to find," he said, in tones more intense than the simple words warranted. "Goodnight, Miss Swann." He crossed to the door, held open for him by Edward in livery, turned, and bowed farewell.

"Goodnight, and thank you, Will Turner." Elizabeth watched him leave, then went up to her room. She could just see him from her window, disappearing down the road. She looked at the key Will had made, which had imprinted its outline onto her palm. She would use the old key, and keep this one safe.


End file.
